


Give Me A (Vital) Sign

by Jmeelee



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Beacon Hills Hospital (Teen Wolf), Hospital Bed Hook Up, Hospitals, M/M, Secret Crush, Sterek Valentine Week 2021, hospital gowns, vital sign monitors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:14:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29419251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jmeelee/pseuds/Jmeelee
Summary: Derek learns it's hard to keep your crush a secret when your heart is broadcasting loud and clear.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 25
Kudos: 244
Collections: Sterek Valentine Week





	Give Me A (Vital) Sign

**Author's Note:**

  * For [princecharmingwinks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/princecharmingwinks/gifts).



> For [Princecharmingwinks](https://princecharmingwinks.tumblr.com/) prompt "Derek somehow ends up in the hospital hooked up to a heart rate monitor. Stiles comes in and Derek's heart rate keeps randomly skipping/speeding up. Cue confessions, kisses and fun times." I hope this little bit of ridiculousness makes you smile <3 
> 
> And I LOVE [SterekValentineWeek,](https://sterekvalentineweek.tumblr.com/) so this is also for the 2021 Day 3 prompt "Secret Crush"

“This feels like overkill, Melissa,” Derek grumbles as she slaps another sticky electrode to his chest. There’s a cuff around his right bicep, a red-glowing clamp on his left index finger, and five long wires holding him captive to a vital sign monitor. He’s given her seven vials of blood, a cup of urine, and let her perform an EEG. “I’m back to normal. We’re all okay.”

Melissa hangs her head, neck going limp, and curly brown hair falling out of her messy bun to dance around her temples. She’s still for a long moment, hand on Derek’s pectoral where she’s applied the patch to his skin. “Derek…” The name is a weary exhale. She lifts her head, eyes sunken and bloodshot when they meet his. “Not twenty-four hours ago, every werewolf in this goddamn town haunted death’s door. I watched all of you...” She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, opening them again. “I watched all of you, including my  _ son _ , turn into Beacon Hill’s version of walking corpses. I couldn’t do a damn thing. Not even the nine herbs helped. I know you all think you’ve recovered, and perhaps you have. But  _ this _ ?” She removes her hand from his chest, waves it around the hospital room. “This I  _ can _ do. If there’s a chance in hell Deaton’s able to use any information these test results give if, god forbid, something like that happens again, then I’m going to make sure I’ve done everything within  _ my _ power.”

Derek averts his eyes, shame-faced. “I know. I’m sorry.” 

Calloused hands cup his cheeks, urging him to glance back at her. “I’m so relieved you’re okay, Derek. All I ask is you lay here in this uncomfortable bed a little longer, and let me make sure, for certain.”

He nods. Melissa smiles gently, letting go of his face to hang her discarded stethoscope around her thin neck and grab her clipboard off the rolling bedside tray. She tugs the loose collar of his hospital gown back up over the electrodes. Once a vibrant lime green, the shift has faded to the color of old pea soup. “I’m off to check on my other patients. No jumping out the window while I’m gone. And Derek?”

He raises a brow. “Yeah?”

“Be grateful I didn’t demand a stool sample.” She winks at him.

The rubber soles of her nursing clogs shush along the tile floor as she leaves. Derek lies back, squinting, and casts out his hearing. He tries to separate the strands in the symphony of hospital sounds—alarm beeps, squeaky wheelchairs, clacking keyboards, and hundreds of blaring TV channels—and tune into the heartbeats of his pack in the overwhelming orchestra. 

A stray note from a Spanish Telenovela snags his ear. Before he knows it, he’s lost the melody of his pack, led down memory lane by clear, constant phonetics in a nasal tone, by rapid-fire staccato verbs. The hospital room fades, replaced by the Hale House living room. His tiny great-grandmother sways back and forth in her Salyulita rocking chair as melodramatic music swells. “Is she sick?” Derek whispers, pointing to the screen where a raven-haired woman with a white rose stuck behind her ear faints into a rugged man’s burly arms.

“No.” His grandmother laughs, patting the top of Derek’s head. She leans forward in her chair and lowers her voice like she’s about to impart the secrets of the universe. “She’s in  _ love _ .”

Derek’s so far gone in his memories he overlooks the living, breathing body until its shadow darkens the door to his hospital room. His senses turn toward the intrusion before his eyes, his heart monitor flashes red, quick beeps ringing out like a gong. Derek looks over, hoping... But the heart beats a little too slow, the height too short. 

It’s Theo Raeken. 

Derek sits up taller in his bed. The monitor stops flashing, and the beeping slows until it’s one more part of the endless background noise. Derek waves Theo forward. “Everyone okay? Did something happen to Liam?”

Theo huffs. “Everyone’s the pinnacle of health, but the puppy pack has congregated in Liam’s hospital room, and I needed a mental break.” His eyes dance over the room, landing on an uncomfortable-looking reclining chair. He pauses, takes a resigned breath, and shrugs, then flops down into the seat. The cheap vinyl squeaks under his butt. The virus—or spell? Derek’s sure Deaton will give them a non-answer soon—bypassed the chimeras. Theo’s harried face paints a clear picture of Mason and Corey fussing over Liam like mother hens. 

“What about  _ you _ ? Are you okay?” Theo asks, pointing at the monitor Derek’s attached to. “That didn’t seem good when I walked in.” 

“I’m fine.” Derek shifts in the bed, pulling the bleach-scented fitted sheet from the bottom corner. “You surprised me, is all.”

Theo’s bitch please-face rivals Derek’s. “You’re telling me my appearance rattled a born werewolf so badly his heart monitor skyrocketed? Feed that line of bullshit to the rest of the pack that only share one brain cell.” 

“It’s not... I wasn’t expecting to see you.”

Theo narrows his eyes. “Who  _ were  _ you expecting? You know what?” He holds up his hands in the face of Derek’s angry eyebrows. “I don’t care, and I didn’t come here to have a heart to heart. I came for some peace and q—”

Someone hits the door jamb, curses, and falls into the room. Derek’s vital sign monitor goes off like fireworks on the Fourth of July, shrieking sounds and popping colors. 

“Dude!” Stiles says, marathon-runner breathless, arms laden with tiny bags of candy, which he cradles like precious infants. “This would be much easier if they assigned everyone to the same damn floor! Scott ended up on level seven, and Liam and Malia on three. And they stuck you on level two! Beacon Hills Memorial should have an entire wing dedicated to supernatural maladies by this point.”

Derek opens his mouth uselessly. 

“Hey, what’s up with your monitor?” Stiles questions, pressing the candy bags to his chest as he bends forward to squint at the machine. “Your green line’s bouncing all over the place. That’s the echocardiogram.”

“Uh, no,” Derek starts, shaking his head. “I think that’s the, uh, blood oxygen reader.”

A snort rings out, startling Stiles, who fumbles his vending machine plunder. He turns and sees Theo sprawled in the guest chair like a king. Stiles’ shoulders pull back, spine straightening, unable to shed the ingrained mistrust, despite Theo’s being a pack ally for over a year. Theo tugs a tissue from the box on Derek’s windowsill and waves it around in mock surrender. “I come in peace, Stiles.”

Stiles narrows his eyes and bends down to retrieve the candy. His skinny jeans pull tight across his ass. Derek’s machine screams like a banshee. Theo laughs so hard he falls out of his chair.

“What the hell?!” Stiles jack-knifes, biting his lip when he glances back at Derek. “No, trust me. That line monitors your heart. I remember what every blip meant on my mom’s machine.”

_ Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.  _

“It’s... BROKEN!” The words spew out: too loud, too fast, too desperate. Stiles’ eyes snap back to Derek’s heated face. “T-the monitor,” Derek stutters, reigning in the volume. “I think it’s broken or faulty.”

Stiles’ mouth drops open in outrage. Derek struggles to control his blood pressure, also steadily scaling the screen, waving a flashing neon-red sign. “Not cool, man. Want me to get Melissa in here? She’d have a cow if she knew.”

“No, I don’t think that’s n—”

Stiles shuffles everything he’s holding into the crook of his left elbow, fiddling with the nodule close to Derek’s nipple. The beeping increases. Derek sucks in a deep, shaky breath. Stiles brings a fist down on top of the monitor. It stops.

“Yeah, something doesn’t add up,” Stiles says, more to himself than to Derek. His eyes clear. “I’m doing a snack run,” Stiles says, turning back to Derek. “If I see Melissa on my travels, I’ll send her your way.” He tosses a packet of Starburst on top of the hospital blanket across Derek’s lap. “I would have picked all the orange ones out for you, but my hands are pretty full.”

Another snort from Theo’s corner of the room. “Uh, that’s fine.” Derek’s voice is gruffer than a package of sugar and food coloring warrants. “I appreciate it.”

And he’s gone, like a hurricane, leaving Derek scattered.

Theo unfolds from the tile floor, stretching like a cat. The move is a little too reminiscent of Peter for Derek’s comfort. He walks over to the monitor, eyes reflecting yellow, blue, red, green. “I’m not a self-proclaimed expert or anything,” he begins, “but thanks to the Dread Doctors, I know my way around hospital equipment. And this?” He elongates a claw, taps on the heart line. “I don’t think it’s the machine that’s broken.”

Derek growls.

Theo smirks but heads toward the door. “I’ll go check on Liam, see if his machine malfunctions too.”

And Derek’s left alone to rub at the headache brewing at his temples. Down at the nurses’ station, keyboards clack, and newborn babies cry on the fourth floor, outraged over having to trade their cozy, warm home for this bright, harsh world. An intercom buzzes, calling doctors to the emergency room. Down the hall, a janitor mops up a mess, the disinfectant curling like smoke in Derek’s nose. The starched bed sheet scratches at his back, his thighs. He wants to go home. He wants… But Derek never gets what he wants. 

“I was in the elevator when it occurred to me.”

Derek jolts despite the softness of the voice. His heart line spikes. Stiles stands in the doorway, arms still laden with sugary snacks. He steps over the threshold, moving closer, one monitored heartbeat at a time.

“Dr. Geyer won a grant for the hospital in 2019. They used the money to purchase all-new, state-of-the-art equipment; defibrillators, surgical lights, and vital sign monitors like these bad boys right here.” Stiles pats the top of the machine, in the exact spot he’d whacked it moments ago. “I mean, duds are always a possibility, but…” Stiles drops all the candy on top of Derek’s bed: Reese’s Pieces for Scott, a Milky Way for Mason, Rolos for Corey, Skittles for Liam, those gross sugared fruit slices for Isaac, Gummi Bears for Malia, a Crunch bar for Ethan and Lemon Heads for Jackson—even though, as a Kamina, the virus-spell-whatever didn’t affect him as much. He places an open palm overtop of Derek’s hammering heart, his heat seeping through the threadbare gown.

“Keeping secrets from werewolves is infuriating. If they aren’t monitoring chemosignals, they’re memorizing heartbeats like the chorus to a song on the radio. It’s unfair. You should be able to keep some things to yourself. Especially how you feel about certain people.” Stiles bites his lip, looks at Derek through lowered lashes. “So, if you want to keep secrets, Derek, they’re yours. I won’t say another word if you don’t want me to.”

Derek cups Stiles’ face, thumbs stroking his jutting cheekbones. “Does it still count as a secret if you’re the only person who doesn’t know how absolutely in love with you I am?”

“Oh, thank god,” Stiles breathes.

And maybe it’s—what feels like—his thousandth near-death experience in twenty-six short years, or perhaps it’s Derek being done hiding his heart, but before he knows what he’s doing, he pulls his hands from Stiles’ face and tugs his upper body onto his hospital bed. His fingers, even the one still bearing the pulse oximeter, thread through Stiles’ already messy hair, and Derek kisses him fully on the mouth. Before his brain catches up with his heart, questions whether Stiles even want this, Stiles’ tongue lightly runs along the seam of Derek’s lips. For what feels like the first time, everything is right with the world.

Stiles swings his legs over the bed railing and climbs into the cramped hospital bed, crushing candy under his knees. He gets between Derek’s legs, tugs them so Derek’s thighs and knees bracket Stiles’ hips. Stiles grinds down, breath heaving and jumping. Derek laughs, he groans, and Stiles bites his lips in retaliation, grinning the entire time.

A calloused hand travels across his chest. Blunt human nails catch in the thin hospital gown fabric, pressing into his skin, the sensation traveling like liquid lightning to his groin. Derek grunts, sliding down the bed until he’s reclined. The fingers dance over Derek’s abs, snake around his waist, down past where the gown bunches against his hips.

“Holy mother of god,” Stiles whispers against Derek’s mouth. “They split these gowns up the back.” His hands sweep lower, over the divots in Derek’s lower back, over the swell of his cheeks, finger delving between his crack. Colors burst behind Derek’s eyelids. Stiles’ lips and hands are everywhere, a force of nature pulling Derek apart at the seams and the only thing holding him together. 

  
  


A chorus of jagged gasps, creaking metal, and moaning industrial-grade plastic plays under the trill of Derek’s vital signs. Thumping footfalls running down the hallway, thundering like a heavy metal bass line, break the harmony. “I need a doctor in there, stat!” a voice yells.

Derek grabs at Stiles’ rolling hips but doesn’t manage to slow them at all.

“I think he’s—Oh.” They break apart to find Melissa in the doorway pushing a crash cart, two scandalized nurses over her shoulder. Their wide eyes ogle Derek and Stiles on the bed. Liam’s bag of Skittles rips open, a victim of their vigorous union, and the tiny candies fall to the cold tile floor like rainbow rain.  _ Plink. Plink. Plink _ . 

Stiles pulls his hands out from the back of Derek’s hospital gown. “Heh. So, uh, funny story a—”

Melissa holds up a hand, silencing him. “Derek, I’ll go get your release paperwork from the nurses’ station.”

“Melissa, I’m—”

“No. Nope. Not another word. I’m discharging you before you both  _ discharge _ .” The nurses titter behind their hands. 

“Okay, fair assessment, but, question,” Stiles says, far too composed for his position sprawled in Derek’s lap. “Are the gowns up for grabs?”

Melissa lobs a death glare at Stiles’ face. “What!?” Stiles cries in mock outrage. “It opens in the  _ back _ . Don’t blame a guy for trying.”

She reverses out of the room, wheeling the cart away, muttering under her breath. Derek doesn’t even try to hear her over the blood rushing in his ears. 

He rips off the nodules, dumps Stiles onto the bed before lowering his legs to the ground. He walks over to his clothes piled on the windowsill—Stiles wolf-whistles at the view. “Roll the gown up in a little ball,” he begs. “We’ll sneak it out under my sweatshirt.” 

Derek jerks on his jeans and rips his t-shirt over his head. He shoves his feet into his sneakers. He pulls Stiles off the bed, into his arms. “Come on,” he says, tugging Stiles toward the door. “Let’s go spill some more secrets.”

He doesn’t need a machine to tell him that Stiles’ smile, equal parts dirty and joyous, causes Derek’s vital signs to catapult off the charts. He’s weak in the knees, like a Telenovela heroine, but Derek’s not sick. He’s in  _ love _ . Stiles pushes him against the door jamb, holding him up with deceptively powerful arms, kisses him thoroughly. “Trust me. Secrets aren’t all we’re going to spill.”

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to Dori and Dee:cheerleaders, betas, FRIENDS <3 
> 
> I'm [Jamie!](https://jmeelee.tumblr.com/) Thanks for reading!


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